


Pleasure (And Its Little Inconveniences)

by AppleGrenade



Category: J. Edgar (2011)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-09 23:04:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4367714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleGrenade/pseuds/AppleGrenade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><q>The very essence of our democracy is rooted in the belief… that love is the greatest force on Earth, far more enduring than hatred…</q><br/>-- J. Edgar Hoover in ‘J. Edgar (2011)’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pleasure (And Its Little Inconveniences)

**Spoilers:**  
Of a four-year old film?

 **Disclaimer:**  
J. Edgar is the property of Clint Eastwood  & Associates. I may be crazy, but not so crazy as to incur the volcanic wrath of Dirty Harry.

\-----

It was an unforgiveably warm day. J. Edgar was sweating, with no one around to hand him a handkerchief and/or to fix his window.

“Mr. Tolson has gone up to his family home. He asked for emergency leave,” that was the first thing Helen said to him when he arrived at the office this morning.

“And he had to leave so quickly he couldn’t tell me this in person?”

Helen smiled at him, that particular smile which always succeeded in reminding him of his place vis-à-vis her, of his dire need for her unwavering loyalty, so he would take care not to aggrieve her. “Do you want me to call him back to the office, Edgar?”

 _Yes!_ “No. No, I’ll grant him leave. Did he say for how long?”

“He said he will try to come back the day after tomorrow.”

“Next time, Ms. Gandy, you tell him to do or do not. There is no try!”

“Yes, Edgar.” And that was the end of that.

J. Edgar’s day had not been going well. For starters, his housekeeper still made his eggs the wrong way. During the drive to the office he saw no less than 28 undesirables roaming freely on his roads - hoodlums, street urchins, young men sporting ridiculous shoes walking hand-in-hand with young women adorned in even more ridiculous hats… He’ll have them all round-up by the end of the week. No, by the end of the day!

The operation in New York still hadn’t yielded results. And the technical laboratory still hadn’t had much progress examining the evidence from the Lindbergh baby kidnapping case.

As for Mr. Tolson… Mr. Tolson still refused to have a conversation with him ever since they came back from their weekend getaway to Del Mar. That had been one-and-a-half weeks ago. They still had lunch or dinner together - they agreed, good day or bad, whether they agree or disagree, they’d never miss one - but he was a shuffle-hop-step and a paradiddle away from being a marble statue with all the non-talking he did.

It was driving J. Edgar up the wall, were he the kind of man who could be driven up walls.

(He was.)

If Mr. Tolson only knew, if **Clyde** only knew, how much pain it was causing him… But that’s not fair, was it. He hurt Clyde first. He made a fool of him. He threw the first punch, he split those perfect lips…

J. Edgar was alone in his inner office, so he permitted himself a deep sigh followed by the crushing of his face into his palms. He wounded Clyde, the beautiful face bled because of him. And although Clyde did stay for the following day’s races, the bright glimmer ever-present in his eyes was noticeably dimmed.

He was drifting away, slowly but surely, floating out of J. Edgar’s reach.

J. Edgar forcefully stifled a sob, rubbed his palms vigorously up-and-down his face. What a sight he was making, truly unbecoming for someone of his designation and stature. What if someone saw him like this! Whimpering like a besotted schoolboy, a **daffodil**. Mother would not approve. She would rather have a dead son.

But what was J. Edgar to do? He had come to terms with it; he had no control whatsoever when it came to his Associate Director. Be it to grant his requests, or refuse him. To pull him in or push him away. To kiss-

J. Edgar actually felt a tremor inside, he felt unable to compose himself. He became winded just sitting there, awash in memories.

Clyde, clad in silk pajamas in the loveliest shade of emerald green, accentuating his golden skin. Long, slim leg casually crossed on top of the other and J. Edgar would give up anything even his precious secret files if he could just drop to the floor and kiss each knee reverently. Clyde’s hair was combed and parted his usual way but loosely so, unlike what J. Edgar was used to seeing - honey-blonde locks a wish or two away from falling into his summer-blue eyes.

J. Edgar often permitted himself to imagine Clyde with messy hair, it’d make his perfect posture and custom-cut suits endearing. Of course he’d never actually allow it - he once fired an agent for keeping a mustache and reprimanded another for wearing a zoot suit, after all. Not even if it were to adorn the dear face of Mr. Tolson would messy hair be tolerated while at the Bureau.

Not while at the Bureau.

Clyde had perfect cheekbones, just strong enough to make him handsome, just dainty enough to make him beautiful. His eyebrows were so lovely, it made one think perhaps he plucked them, but they were just bushy enough that you knew they were natural. He would squint when he's annoyed. When he ate he’d take small bites, just in case J. Edgar expected him to answer a question mid-bite.

That thought started J. Edgar fixating on those lips. Good Heavens, those lips. The many images he could conjure of them: smiling, laughing, pursing in concentration, slightly parted, moistened by a drop of champagne…

Everything about Clyde was slim and straight. His lightly-muscled body, not well-hidden under his immaculate suits, with his always-perfect posture, back straight like he was royalty. J. Edgar’s favourite has got to be Clyde’s pale neck. Once, he caught sight of Clyde taking off his necktie, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt, exposing the perfect little 'v' down the centre of his chest. J. Edgar wasn't sure why but that drove him crazy right then. He'd seen so much more of Clyde than that. When Clyde performed calisthenics, he often took off his shirt. When Clyde bathed in the communal shower, he often took off his everything.

Thinking back, it was likely the thrill of seeing something suggestive. That 'v' hinted at nudity, and it was just as compelling, if not more, than actual nudity. Partially undressed, partially dressed, overworked, overtired… Clyde had looked painfully desirable.

J. Edgar was accustomed to seeing Clyde, accustomed to having that warm presence constantly about, accustomed to hearing his voice. Oh, what he would do to hear Clyde’s voice calling out his name right this instant! That voice was like velvet. Like the rich silks Mother liked to wear.

That thought wrenched J. Edgar back to the reality of his inner office. He was doing it again, going against Mother’s wishes, not spending enough time charming girls for marriage prospects, being in Clyde’s constant company… Whimpering like a besotted schoolboy, a **daffodil**. Mother would not approve. She would rather have a dead son.

J. Edgar scowled; his fascination with Clyde was undoubtedly disturbing and bothersome. And so he crumpled all those feelings and recollections and chucked them into his wastebasket. But there they remained. Crushed and discarded, but present nonetheless.

He gave it a cold glare, though not his coldest.

Slowly, he reached into the wastebasket and picked up the memory of his first meeting with Clyde. He remembered every minute detail of it: the cologne Clyde wore - he caught an intoxicating whiff of it as they exchanged calling cards; the lighting of the club - dimmed as it were he could see every single movement Clyde made; most clearly he remember Clyde’s eyes, with a kind of teasing smile in them, and the look of that soft spot just north-east of the corner of his mouth, a lifetime away from pressing against J. Edgar’s lips…

Maybe this time, just this once?

He hastily gathered all the crumpled feelings and recollections, smoothened them out one by one, working away the wrinkles. Fresh and crease-free, he marveled at them, discovering even more snippets to commit to his memory. Clyde striding purposefully down a hallway; Clyde on a sailboat - the setting sun shining upon him and upon him only; Clyde sitting beside him at a congressional hearing, steadfastly supporting him both physically and mentally; Clyde agreeing to be appointed Associate Director, to be beside J. Edgar forever, his eyes had shone bright with promises.

What if more than once, did he dare?

What if, when Clyde was striding purposefully down that hallway, J. Edgar had pulled him into his office and kissed him so thoroughly they’d spend the entire week breathless at the memory of it? The sun that autumn dusk had tinted Clyde’s hair in shades of molten gold, what if he’d run his fingers through those silken strands like he wanted to? - everyone would’ve thought that Mr. Tolson’s mussed hair was the result of the gusting sea breeze. When Clyde was sitting beside him at that congressional hearing, why didn’t he reach over and squeeze those slender thighs, shocked gasps and clutched pearls and popped monocles be damned? When Clyde agreed to be appointed Associate Director, how would things have turned out between them if J. Edgar had clasped those slim fingers and kissed them right there for anyone in the world to see?

But, such overt displays, maybe Clyde would be the one disinclined? No, Clyde could always be persuaded otherwise, if the right opportunities were to arise. And J. Edgar was a very persuasive fellow (save for Helen Gandy and a couple of short-sighted congressmen). He’d take Clyde to dinner, take him sailing again or maybe a leisurely stroll in the city. He’d speak softly in Clyde’s ear, romance him, promise him eternal affection and lo-

No. J. Edgar knew better than to make promises. He made one promise to Clyde, just one, that they would never miss a lunch or dinner together, and he almost broke that promise. And for what? For what did he almost lose Clyde’s company? A congressman too blind to see that the Bureau of Investigations cannot operate at its most effective unless they are granted more funding? For Dorothy Lamour? Beautiful (sure), camp (most certainly), a suitable match (absolutely not; her hair was the wrong colour!).

_“If you ever mention a lady friend again, it would be the last time you share my company.”_

Clyde’s bleeding lips had been pressed to his. Clyde’s heart had thundered in the palm of his hands. J. Edgar hadn’t made that promise - not out loud, but he didn’t have to. He had no intention of losing Clyde’s pleasurable company, no matter what inconvenience it may cause him. Mother would not be pleased, but Mother didn’t understand. J. Edgar needed Clyde. He needed him, like he’s never needed anyone else in his entire life.

He will be strong; he will not wilt like a little flower.

Once Clyde came home, they’ll have dinner at McCallum’s - that was Clyde’s favourite restaurant. He’ll get Helen to make the reservations. No, he’ll make one himself; he will make this grand gesture, so Clyde would see that he was important, that his presence was wanted. Desired, above all others.

That he was being offered an apology, the first of many, as many as Clyde would ransom out of him so he would smile his exquisite smile at J. Edgar once again.

J. Edgar actually felt a tremor inside, he felt unable to compose himself. He became winded just sitting there, awash in possibilities.

J. Edgar Hoover didn’t think of Clyde Tolson as an incompletion.

Having Clyde with him, J. Edgar was not half a person.

Alone, he was great. But together, they were **fantastic**.

\-----

FINIS 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a long time ago, back when the film first came out. Never mustered the courage to put it up anywhere. It felt like I was intruding on their lives, like I overheard a conversation I wasn’t supposed to.


End file.
